The Dawn in Desinence
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: REPOSTED: The Enterprise is called home by Admiral Archer, the crew is granted an unexpected shore leave. New friendships continue grow amongst the crew, in a time when events come to a close, others begin. Follows "Initial Impressions."


**Author's Note:** _I do not own Star Trek, or any recognizable characters, locations, etc. They all belong to Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. My playing with the characters is not intended as disrespect for the characters or the actors that give them life. _

_This story is fourth in the "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series, and directly follows "Initial Impressions." Certain points in this story may refer to those previously in the series several times. Enjoy, everyone! _

_What has changed in the reposting/editing: There is more to the scene with Jim speaking to a certain elderly Vulcan, and the end scene has been rewritten. Also, there are additional end notes. Thank you! ~ RK_

**The Dawn in Desinence **

It wasn't the loud thunder that woke up Jim Kirk, but the loud and mournful howling of a certain little beagle curled up at the foot of his bed. He looked around the room for several seconds before he remembered where he was.

On Earth, in his Starfleet chosen-but-not-quite-paid-for apartment…in his bedroom.

His gaze wandered to the large window that took up nearly an entire wall of his bedroom, only to see the dreary rainfall of San Francisco. It had been raining for almost the entire time his crew had been granted an unexpected shore leave on Earth. It was almost appropriate that it was raining since they'd arrived back.

Jim swung his legs free of the bedding and whistled for the little beagle, who whimpered and slowly walked to him. He didn't know what to do with Planchet now. As they had been arriving back at Earth, he'd put in a call to Admiral Archer, only to be intercepted by Admiral Pike. What he'd said to him was simple and precise.

"_Captain Kirk, Admiral Archer passed away yesterday in the afternoon. I'm afraid you won't be able to speak to him. All ranking officers are to report tomorrow to the Admiral's funeral service and to pay their respects." _

Jim didn't know what to say. What he did know was that when he walked through the door of his quarters, Planchet seemed to instinctively know that his master was dead. He found the beagle curled into a ball in the corner, whimpering.

It was a sound the animal hadn't stopped making for days, and Jim didn't know what to do to cheer Planchet up. In the meantime, Jim was stuck indoors out of the rain in close contact with a depressed dog.

"Come on, Planchet. Breakfast." He got up and made his way out of his bedroom and into the spacious apartment he'd acquired just before the _Enterprise_ shipped out on its first mission. He heard the beagle shuffling along after him.

He'd asked Admiral Pike for a little assistance in finding a nicer place for him based on the reasoning that he deserved to have a nice place since he was a hero and all. Pike had simply rolled his eyes and had his assistants scope out a larger, nicely but tastefully furnished apartment with a view of the bay.

The hero excuse, though, really wasn't the reason why he wanted a nice place to call home when on Earth. He mainly just wanted to come to an apartment that was truly his own, that was open with high ceilings and non-constricting. He'd had enough constriction in Iowa, at the farm. He wanted somewhere that was nothing like that place, nothing to remind him of where he'd grown up, no dull and lifeless colors. He just wanted something peaceful, relaxing. Like what a vacation home should be. That it had a guest room was great. That it came with a balcony on which he could enjoy some old paper books was a definite plus. But, Jim's favorite feature was the well-provisioned, completely stocked, and containing all-new-appliances kitchen! He enjoyed cooking, even if it wasn't the most delectable meals. That he was able to cook them, and not have to worry about not getting enough to eat was the best feeling he could ask for. He still needed some lessons in how to _really_ cook, but in the meantime he was content. He had fresh food to eat whenever he wanted.

He was just a little clumsy and messy in the kitchen. He blamed it on relying on a replicator for too long. He really needed to see if having an actual kitchen with an actual staff was a little too much to ask.

He'd just sat down at his dining table, having finished cooking himself a failed omelette – he didn't quite manage to flip it successfully, but was still determined to enjoy it! – complete with some bacon nestled inside the cheese, and a small chicken fillet for Planchet – which he was nibbling on with what seemed contentment – when his door chimed.

That was odd. So odd in fact that he wasn't sure he'd actually heard it. He shoved a piece of his pseudo-omelette into his mouth and was relishing in the flavor if not the texture when the chime sounded again.

Anyone who knew Jim Kirk, knew not to interrupt him while he was eating, unless that person was with him from the start of the meal. If it was Starfleet business, he knew they would have sent him a notice, or simply commed him. This had to be personal.

Or someone who was trying to kill him.

Jim quickly dashed to where he kept his phaser and got it adjusted to the lowest stun setting. He was ready. He approached the door slowly. The chime went off again. Planchet whimpered a little louder than normal. Kirk flailed for a second, and then silently gestured for the dog to be quiet. He wasn't sure if the dog knew what he meant, but the end result was what he wanted. Planchet was quiet. Jim made it to the door and activated it.

"Capt—"

On a shoot first, talk later instinctual move, Jim shot his phaser at the person on the other side of his door. That person crumbled to the ground right across the threshold. When he realized who it was he'd stunned on his doorstep, he felt like a complete ass.

On the floor, in his doorway, was a person he was only starting to know well. His black hair was soaking wet and plastered haphazardly all over his skull, sticking to his forehead in various places. His pointed ears were tinged green at the tips from the chill of the rain. And his civilian clothing was clinging to his slender form.

"Son of a—"

It was Spock.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"How did it go?" she asked as soon as the redhead came up to the table. Christine decided to play it safe in the choice of dining, since she wasn't sure what the other girls enjoyed. She went with Italian.

Tonia Barrows, medical yeoman on the _Enterprise_, looked like she'd just tasted something bitter. Then, she sighed as she flung herself into her chair next to a fellow yeoman, though this cute little blonde was much more doe-eyed than her. Clearly, she had yet to experience the real harshness of life. Also, she had far too much hair. It wasn't that she didn't like her, but her cutesy attitude and dreaminess got irritating very quickly. "He's not even on this coast!"

Christine was actually surprised by this news. "I thought he wasn't allowed to—"

"Did you know he had a kid?" Tonia asked, a little loudly in Christine's opinion.

She did not even bat her eyelashes at the question. "Yes." Everyone who spoke to McCoy about anything other than what illness they had, or what illness they thought they had, or if they could get contraceptives, or anything medical for that matter knew that the ship's CMO had a daughter whom he dearly missed while in space. "He tries to visit his daughter whenever he can if he's planetside, but the times don't always match up."

Tonia sighed, her tension starting to leave her. She took a long drink from the glass of water that the blonde nurse had already ordered for her. Christine noticed that Tonia preferred water on most occasions.

"What does that mean?" the cute blonde yeoman asked.

Christine looked at Martha Landon with infinite patience. She liked the girl, mostly. She was a little starry-eyed, and her intentions were in the right place. She just had to learn a little discretion. "His ex-wife doesn't like to give him a lot of visitation rights."

Martha gaped at Christine. "That's not fair to Doctor McCoy."

Christine sipped her wine as she shook her head. While she was certainly not attracted to Leonard McCoy, she felt overwhelming compassion for him. The two of them – other than the newly arrived Doctor M'Benga – were senior officers in the medical division. They both confided in each other with their issues, and at times played pro-bono therapist for one another. She'd been on the receiving end of many of his frustrated rants on his ex-wife's unjust restrictions in allowing him to see, speak, or otherwise spend time with his daughter. "No, it isn't fair. But the time must have lined up this time, otherwise he wouldn't have gone there."

"Where is 'there'?" asked Tonia.

The answer was quick. "Georgia."

Tonia blinked, then stared morosely into her water. "He'll be there all shore leave, won't he?"

"For two weeks?" retorted Martha with obvious skepticism.

Christine allowed a small laugh. "No. She only lets him visit for three days at the maximum. He'll be back soon." She allowed Tonia to light up with hope for a moment. "He won't be happy, though. In fact, he'll probably be very upset and borderline depressed. That's usually how he is when he comes back from Georgia."

It was at that moment that their last companion arrived at the table and sat down with an aggravated huff. "Exes do that to you no matter where you come from." She snatched up a drink menu, completely ignoring the water waiting for her, and scanned for something with a little more kick.

"What happened, Nyota?"

From behind the menu, she replied. "Nothing happened. The Embassy wouldn't even let me into the building."

Martha, in her obliviousness to the real situation, let out a sympathetic sound, "Oh, I'm sorry."

Nyota glanced sideways at her with an expression she would give someone if they had spinach between their front teeth and had no idea. With an eyeroll, she continued her perusal of the menu. As though he knew he would be needed, a waiter appeared at their table. Before he could even get the question out, Nyota growled at him, "Cardassian Sunrise and a Starduster." The waiter fled to fulfill her order, recognizing that particular tone of a customer.

Before she was able to lower the menu again, Christine had subtly moved her wine over to replace Nyota's water. It seemed that she needed it more than her. "What else happened?" Nyota glared at her. The blonde nurse shrugged. "You wouldn't be this upset if you just got turned away from the Vulcan Embassy by their gatekeeper or whatever they call them. So?" she pressed. "What happened?"

Nyota took up the wine and took a long drink. "I wouldn't even be this upset if that conversation on the bridge never happened!"

Christine knew perfectly well to what the darker-skinned woman was referring, but it was clear the other two did not. She didn't have to wait long. "What conversation?" asked Martha.

Nyota turned her head sharply to the smallest woman at their table. "The one where Doctor McCoy asked Kirk about anti-fraternization regulations. Apparently, they don't exist anymore." She took another long sip from the wine.

That caught Tonia's interest. "He asked about anti-fraternization regu—"

Nyota had already begun speaking as she gulped down the wine. "Which was the very same reason that Spock decided we should, and I quote, 'discontinue our physical involvement with one another, as it is against regulations.' If that was his reason for ending out relationship, than he should have thought of a better one than citing a non-existent anti-fraternization regulation!" Just as she was finishing the wine, the waiter returned with her two drinks. He didn't even get the first one on the table before she had it in her hand.

"Thank you," Martha said brightly to the waiter since she figured that Nyota wouldn't be thanking him.

Tonia was still focused on one thing. "Doctor McCoy asked the captain about—"

Nyota wasn't finished. "And then, I tried to explain that I was there to speak with Spock on a personal matter, was told to wait – in the rain! I thought even the Vulcans would show a little more respect than that—"

"Well, they are all dealing with the loss of their planet," tried Martha.

"And broken bonds," added Christine, thinking of the countless Vulcans she'd seen during the Narada crisis in the sickbays.

"—only to be told that Spock 'has no intention of speaking with you at the present time.' So, you know what I did?" She paused for another sip of the Cardassian Sunrise.

"No," Martha said, trying to sound encouraging, but only managing to aggravate Nyota more.

"I waited for him. I went across the way and waited for him. He came out of the Embassy soon enough."

It was by this time that Christine couldn't keep quiet. "Please, Nyota, tell me that you didn't follow him." Though, looking over her friend's wet clothing, it was very clear that she'd done just that.

"Of course I followed him. If he had no intention of talking to me, I wanted to know who he _did _have an intention to speak to."

Christine was starting to regret the wine she'd offered to her. She'd never seen Nyota really drink like this, and it was obvious that it probably should not happen again in the near future, if ever again. She still had yet to put the glass down.

"And do you know where he went?" Nyota snorted harshly at the memory. "He went to Kirk! Kirk!" The expression she wore contorted her normally pretty face into something immensely unattractive. "Somehow he found the one place I would never go."

Christine let her eyes go to each woman around their table. Tonia looked to be in a state of shock, probably still wondering if Doctor McCoy asking the captain about fraternization regulations meant what she thought it meant. Nyota was still furiously working on her Cardassian Sunrise, while Martha was looking decidedly uncomfortable next to her. The nurse knew that Martha had a deep respect for their science officer, mainly because she'd heard a certain someone go on and on about the Vulcan – in a completely hero-worship sort of way. Christine decided to have a little mercy on the youngest of the women at her table, by giving her something to talk about. "Martha, how did your date with Pavel go?"

She knew she made the right choice when Martha's expression went as bright as a supernova.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He really didn't know what to do now. This was ridiculous. Jim was seated in one of his common room chairs that he'd pulled closer to the long sofa. Despite it now being cold, and incredibly unsatisfying, he was still eating his omelette. He was not about to let the thing go to waste. As he ate he was staring at the unconscious Vulcan he'd struggled and managed to get onto the sofa after he'd stunned him with his phaser at near point blank range. He hoped he didn't hurt him.

After he'd realized who he'd shot, he tossed the phaser onto the nearest surface and dragged Spock inside his apartment before someone looking at his door thought he'd killed him. That was the last thing he needed. It took him another ten minutes to drag his first officer to the sofa, ten seconds to put a thick blanket on the sofa cushions, another four minutes to haul Spock's deadweight onto the sofa, and then another ten minutes to tightly wrap the pathetically wet Vulcan in several blankets, fetch a pillow from the guest room, and towel dry his hair.

And now there he sat eating the last of his omelette, staring at Spock, and hoping he'd wake up soon so he wouldn't have to call Starfleet Medical and try to explain why he'd shot his first officer in front of his door. Even Planchet wandered over and was staring at Spock.

After holding his empty plate for a few minutes, Jim decided to put it away. He only got three steps away from the old-style sink, when he heard a soft groan coming from the sofa. Not even thinking that he'd be making more noise than if he'd set it down nicely, he tossed the plate and fork into the sink and practically jogged back to the sofa just in time to see Spock waking up.

"Hey," Jim greeted the Vulcan in a whisper.

Spock's eyes fluttered as he began to focus on his surroundings. "Captain?"

The human smiled at him, but then the expression faded into something like sheepishness. "Sorry I – uh – shot you."

It took a moment for Spock to remember this. "You stunned me. Why?"

Jim's eyes went to the floor. "I didn't know who it was, and kind of shot before asking questions."

Spock replied before really thinking about it. "Is this a common practice for you? To shoot your visitors on your doorstep?"

Jim was about to reply with an angry defense, but when he looked at Spock, he actually realized that the other man was smiling at him in his own subtle way. Instead of defending himself, he began to chuckle softly. "Are you alright?"

Spock nodded. "I will recover." He shifted on the sofa, and then noticed his bundled state. "Why have you chosen to confine me in this manner, Captain?"

He was still smiling, but his sheepishness was back. "You were wet and looked a little cold. Thought you'd like to wake up a little warmer and dryer."

"That was considerate of you, sir."

Jim frowned then. "Jim, Spock. It's Jim." He looked at the Vulcan, but the other man did not oblige him. The human sighed again. "Look, um…What did you want?"

"I beg your pardon, Captain?"

He ignored that Spock still didn't call him by his name. He'd have to keep working on it. "Why did you come here?"

It was then that Spock looked uncertain. "I…I am aware that it is considered rude in human customs to – I believe the phrase is – 'invite oneself into another's home,' but that there are also exceptions to that axiom?"

In Jim's opinion, only Spock would consider that phrase an axiom. "And what do you think those exceptions are?"

There was a long moment before Spock replied to the question, during which Jim thought he might have to play the guessing game with him to pull it from him. Finally, though, Spock looked directly at Jim. The expression on the Vulcan's face struck him immobile in his chair. "When one has nowhere else to go."

This was suddenly a conversation that Jim was not prepared to have. He was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. He awkwardly rose from his chair. "I think we both need something to drink before we keep talking." He saw Spock begin to struggle out of the blankets he'd tucked him into. "No, don't you move! I'll be right back. What do you want – anything?"

Spock refused to look at him. He stared out of the window overlooking the grey and rainy bay. "Do you have tea?"

Jim wasn't a tea drinker, and didn't have it normally. But for some reason, when Pike's assistants had made all the arrangements and stocked the food items in the place, they thought tea would be a good idea. He may owe them a thank you notice. "It's nothing fancy, just plain tea."

"That is acceptable."

Jim stalled as long as possible making tea for Spock and a cup of coffee for himself. By the time he finally brought the two cups into the next room, Spock had managed to sit up on the sofa, though he had rearranged the blankets so that he had the use of his hands, though he kept his arms and shoulders covered. Jim offered the tea to his first officer, and settled back into his chair with his coffee.

They drank in silence for a time until Jim couldn't take it anymore.

"So, why don't you have anywhere else to go but my apartment? You still have yours, don't you?"

Spock shook his head, staring into his tea. "I have never had housing on the Academy grounds. I chose instead to reside in the Vulcan Embassy. However, with my home—the destruction of—the need for so many Vulcans to seek shelter within the Embassy, I relinquished my previous residency, and had been residing with my father in his Ambassadorial Suite. However, I could not—"

Jim could guess what the problem was in this instance, but he knew that Spock needed to say the words. He needed to say it to another person.

"—there were too many places, too many objects in that particular location that were there solely due to the influence and request of my mother, and I was—I could not—and she was not there." Spock's head tipped lower over his teacup. "She will never again be there." He sighed in frustration. "My father is rarely in the suite as he is in discussion with the remaining Elders on what course of action would be best for the preservation of our race. When he is not attending such discussions, he is seeking aid in healing the broken bond resulting from my mother's…death." Jim noticed that Spock's hands were gripping the cup so tightly that his hands had lost their color. "I could not bear it."

Spock was silent and stared intently at the tea. "Spock, I'm—" Jim didn't know what to say. Should he even say anything? He didn't keep going. He'd once apologized to Spock for getting him across the face during one of their sparring sessions. In response, Spock had brusquely informed him that apologies were illogical and unnecessary, and that he could not understand why humans thought that if they apologized for things that may not even be directly their fault, that everything would improve or otherwise return to normal. It was for this reason that Jim stopped himself from saying that word. He didn't want Spock's anger. He didn't want to incense him. He wanted Spock to talk, just talk.

"It was just before I arrived at the conclusion that I may achieve a calmer mental state in another location that Lieutenant Uhura called at the Embassy."

This was so unexpected that Jim couldn't hold back the, "What?" from escaping his mouth.

Spock nodded. "She has been increasingly angry with me from the day that I informed her that I did not desire to continue our romantic involvement." Jim knew that Spock had been the one to do the leaving. He knew it since that conversation on the bridge with Bones. "She is refusing to accept the change in our relationship."

Suddenly, it occurred to Jim that Spock had come to him with his relationship troubles. That Spock had come to _him_ in order to talk about his relationship, or termination of it, with Uhura. He briefly wondered if this meant that they were at least friends now. However, he couldn't dwell on the question, since Spock was still speaking.

"I was preparing to leave the Embassy and apply to the Admirals for housing on Starfleet Academy grounds, even though I am aware such efforts will most likely result in refusal, considering they have already allocated approximately half of the available housing to Vulcan refugees, when I was informed that Lieutenant Uhura was demanding to speak to me. I sent a reply with the intention of learning the reason for her visit. I received a response moments later that it was in regards to—" Spock closed his eyes, and Jim knew that he was trying to recall the wording Uhura probably used. "—'why I lied about breaking it off with her.'"

Finally, Spock looked at him. "I did not lie. When I cited my reasoning for terminating our involvement, the regulations against fraternization were still in place."

Jim had to ask. "But, was that the reason you broke up with her?"

For a moment, Spock looked confused. "Are you inquiring if that is the sole reason for my course of action?"

"Yes. Was that the only reason you left Uhura?"

Spock stared at Jim for a long time. "It was not."

Jim gaped at him. "Then, what was the reason?"

Spock looked down again, as though he were ashamed. "I was dissatisfied with the relationship, and could not find any evidence that the circumstances that had led to the tensions that had arisen between us would be resolved or that the entire situation would improve. When one encounters dissatisfaction in a personal relationship, compounded with unsuccessful attempts to repair its fractures, one withdraws from that relationship. Such was the case with the interactions between myself and Lieutenant Uhura."

Jim latched on to one thing the most out of all of that. "You were unhappy with her."

"Yes."

His voice softened as he asked, "Why didn't you tell her that?"

Spock took a deep breath. "I was attempting to spare her the pain of the knowledge that she was causing me displeasure."

His coffee had been forgotten for quite some time by now. "Spock…" He studied his first officer. "Sometimes, even though you'd hurt someone with it, you have to be honest with the person that you're about to break up with. You respect Uhura, right?"

Spock was slowly starting to tip his head up to face him. "Of course I do."

"Then, don't you think she deserves to know why you want to stop dating her?" Spock was clearly disagreeing with him, if his expression was anything to judge. Jim sighed. "Listen, if you can figure out how to tell her what she was doing wrong specifically that made you unhappy, then maybe she wouldn't make those mistakes with someone else. You want her to be happy, right, even if it's not with you?"

"But if I related specific behaviors to her, there is a high possibility that she will grow increasingly angry with me, therefore worsening our relationship."

"She'll be angry with you for a while, yeah, but after she gets over that, she'll be able to make peace about why you left. The reason why she's coming after you now is because she doesn't understand _why_ you left her, and she wants to know the truth. Citing regulations is not a good enough reason. And since those rules don't exist anymore, she probably wants to know why you aren't picking up where you left off, since it was the only reason you gave for breaking up with her anyway." If he were being honest with himself, Jim doubted that Uhura would be able to handle any specific reason for Spock dumping her in a calm and rational manner, no matter what Spock told her. Did that mean he was sabotaging any shot of them resuming their relationship? He hoped not. That would make him the jerk she always pegged him to be.

Spock still looked uncertain, but he was at least still thinking about what Jim had said. "I do not know if what you are advising would be wise."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not saying go back out in the rain and do it now. Give her a few days, or maybe even until we all go back to the ship before saying something."

Spock was quiet and unmoving for a long time. He was clearly deep in thought. Jim stood from his chair. He might have dealt with a cold omelette, but he was not going to deal with lukewarm coffee. He needed to heat it up. By the time he came back into the other room, all of the blankets were neatly folded on the sofa, and the pillow lay on top of them. He found Spock standing at the large window, gazing out at the rain and the bay beyond, a troubled and thoughtful expression on his face. Jim quietly went to stand to Spock's left, his newly hot coffee in his hand. He took a sip in the silence. Spock sighed.

Suddenly, Jim realized why his first officer was being so silent. "You need a place to stay, don't you?" Without waiting fro a response, Jim made the offer. "You're welcome to stay here if you want, for as long as you need to."

Spock's eyes fell closed in what the human surprisingly recognized as silent gratitude. "Thank you, Jim."

He smiled softly at the use of his name. He felt a nudge at his leg, and saw that it was Planchet gazing up at him with big eyes. "Hope you like dogs."

"I will manage."

Jim smiled and took a sip of his coffee. "I know you will, Spock."

~X~X~X~X~X~

Leonard McCoy was not having a good day. This was the part of his visits with his little girl that he disliked the most – the leaving. He stared angrily out of the window of the shuttle, knowing that every moment brought him further and further away from his daughter.

Years ago he would have called Georgia home, but he wasn't sure that was true anymore. He used to call Kegan home to him, when he was a newlywed, when he was by her side while she was screaming in labor, when they both held their newborn daughter in the hospital. But then, it all went wrong. He was divorced and had nearly everything taken from him, including his daughter. He still didn't know exactly how it all happened. He did know that if he hadn't eventually wandered into a Starfleet recruitment officer, he would probably have ended up as a drunken nomad in the Midwest for who knows how long. But then, there he was, nursing a slight hangover, and boarding a Starfleet shuttle bound for San Francisco, sitting next to a young man who turned into his closest friend.

James T. Kirk.

He was grateful that the younger man had a generous nature to those that he cared about, and that he was one of those few people that benefitted from that nature. For instance, during this shore leave Jim had offered him his guest room for as long as he wanted it after his visit with his little girl. He knew that he was going to need to retreat from the world with a long, long drink in that guest room.

The shuttle had landed and he was standing just outside of Jim's apartment, keying in the access code that his friend and captain had given him on his last visit. He hauled his bag up from the floor at his feet and strode through the door that quietly hissed open. He walked into the apartment, and headed straight for the food units, with the intention of feasting on whatever was the most edible in Jim's fridge. However, once he saw the countertops of the kitchen area, the thought of eating went right out of his mind.

The doctor in him took over immediately. He dropped his bags and instinctively went rifling through his smaller bag for his tricorder. There was a small hand towel on the floor, and another of them hanging off the counter. Muddy footwear was caking the floor, directly in the middle of the floor. This was just incredibly unsanitary. Germs were spreading everywhere! His sink was overflowing with dishes, silverware, drinking glasses, all of which were crusting with old food or the remains of beverages. When there wasn't enough room in the sink for all of the dirty dishes, as they overflowed onto the counters! There were empty bottles of some sort of ale or brandy or whatever Jim drank. And a lid sitting there, its matching container nowhere in sight. This was just disgusting.

He began scanning the room with his tricorder, trying to determine if it was actually hazardous to one's health to set foot in that kitchen. He dared to approach the cleanest-looking counter only to discover there were smears of some kind of food, which had now hardened on various areas of the counter, a used cutting board, and a dirty large chopping knife. He barely stopped himself from shuddering. The last thing that caught his eye was that Jim's old-style stove was still on and that there was…something cooking in several pots!

This raised one serious question in his mind.

Where was Jim – especially when something was still cooking?

He lifted the lid from the closest pot and immediately started gagging. What was _in _this? If Jim expected him to eat that, he could think again! He had no idea what this could possibly be, and he's tasted Jim's cooking before. McCoy shoved the lid back into place. He had to get out of the kitchen. It might be a good day to order in. But Jim wasn't getting off easy for that kitchen. He was definitely getting a stern talking to later.

Picking up his bags again he made his way towards the guest room, not even noticing that there was a pile of folded blankets on top of which sat a pillow on the sofa as he passed it.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Jim had no idea where he could possibly find the things he needed. He wasn't even sure how to pronounce some of the ingredients! He was trying to be a good host to his new house guest – who was vegetarian. He'd accepted this saying about Vulcans to be true by now, especially after that time he took care of his first officer as best as he knew how while the Vulcan spent time getting to know their toilet in a whole new way. But that was not his current problem. The problem was that he didn't know – or at least didn't realize – that this particular market area would be swarming with Vulcan refugees trying to get some of their native foods.

For that matter he felt a little like a jerk that here he was – a human – trying to purchase a few little-more-rarer-than-before ingredients for one person, when he overheard two Vulcans discussing their plans to take their newly acquired fruit and plant the seeds immediately in small transportable containers so that they might be able to replant it in their new colony, once that location was decided and they had settled. Jim put the Gesper Fruit down, and continued to search out the bare minimum of the ingredients he needed.

As he was making progress he realized just how important this was. He couldn't – under any circumstances – mess this recipe up! Even with the attempt, no doubt Spock wouldn't appreciate the thought Jim gave to trying to make a Vulcan dish for him. He would only see an inedible food and a waste of now-rare Vulcan ingredients. With this realization, Jim started to wonder if this was even worth it. Sure he liked cooking, but he wasn't _that_ good not to mess up a foreign dish at least a little bit on his first try.

As he looked around at the Vulcans talking about plans to increase the availability of the ingredients in this market by replanting some of them, Jim started to seriously second guess this idea.

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was not that he was scared to be cornered by Uhura should she choose to appear seemingly out of nowhere, but it was unusual – even for Spock – to make the journey from Jim's apartment to the Vulcan Embassy to gather a supply of clothing and other necessary items and then return to the apartment in the time he accomplished the trip. By this time he was soaking wet again, and very eager to regain bodily warmth and dryness. Even before he'd entered the apartment again, Spock already had one goal in mind. The fresher unit. He had an inexplicable need to bathe.

When he returned to the apartment, he saw Jim at the old-style stove, just placing a pot onto one of the burners. "Do you require assistance, Captain?"

The look on the human's face was a mix between surprise and unease. Spock could not understand why he should be uneasy. He had been growing increasingly more comfortable around Jim lately. "No! I'm – uh – I'm good. I have it all under control." He ran his hand through his hair and looked away from Spock. "Just cooking some dinner. Are you hungry?"

Spock tilted his head, studying Kirk, trying to translate his body language. "I would not be adverse to sustenance."

"So, that's a yes?"

Kirk looked up at him with an emotion that Spock recognized. Hope. "It is."

Kirk nodded and turned back to the stove. "Okay. Get settled in. This should be ready in about an hour or so. Is that okay?"

Spock wanted to watch his captain in such a domestic activity, but the need to bathe overruled his own curiosity. "That is acceptable."

"Okay," Kirk replied, without even looking at him. Taking it as a cue to leave Kirk to his task, Spock went toward the door that he knew led to the guest room. It was shortly after he'd begun arranging his clothing in the small storage space in the room that he heard a string of muffled curses coming from the kitchen, then loud footsteps. After that, there was silence. Spock didn't think Kirk had injured himself in the kitchen. If he had, he would have called for Spock's help. Since he hadn't, Spock concluded that Kirk's claim earlier was true and that he had it under control.

He was relieved to note that Kirk not only had the indulgent water setting in the shower unit, but he also had a sonics setting installed. He chose the latter. In the fresher unit he reached a calm meditative state, processing how exactly he'd ended up agreeing to Kirk's offer to live with him during shore leave. He realized that he did not particularly care. He was offered sanctuary from the outside world, and for it he was grateful.

As he was meticulously combing his bangs into shape, he noticed in the mirror that there was another door. Curiosity in this case got the better of Spock. He turned and strode purposefully through it…

…to see a large bed before him. The realization struck him that he had just walked into his captain's bedroom. The bed dominated the room, which was colored in soothing blues. It seemed a little large for Kirk's use alone, but it was the other man's choice. Spock knew of the man's reputation from his Academy days, though lately he did not see any behavior that would support that reputation. Spock briefly wondered if that reputation was true. Uhura had claimed it was true, but Spock was not terribly inclined to believe her as of late.

There was a window to the right took up the entire wall, and let in the natural light. Lightning flashed and Spock flinched at the sudden and brief brightness of the room. He wondered if the window was Kirk's idea. Maybe he missed the natural light while he was in space, and this was a luxury for him. He looked up to the left and noticed that there was a long and shorter window along that wall, closest to the ceiling. It was most likely to allow as much natural light as possible go into the kitchen, which was on the other side of that wall. There was also a door on that wall that would lead directly to the kitchen and living areas.

Spock wondered if his temporary quarters had that small, thin window. It did not escape his notice that a wall in the fresher unit consisted of a whole window. If there was the thin window near the top of the wall separating the fresher and the guest room, he was certain he would be treated to a portion of natural light as well. He decided to check.

This was put right out of his mind when he came through the door to the guest room and was met by a rather loud shout!

~X~X~X~X~X~

"I assure you that the detailed instructions on the recipe will be waiting for you on your private terminal by the time you return to your apartment," said a patient and kindly voice through his communicator.

Jim sighed as he looped his arm through the bag's handles so that he would be able to enter his access code to his apartment when the time came. He'd only purchased the absolute minimum amount of the necessary ingredients for what he planned to cook for Spock. His guilt grew larger and more oppressing the more items he picked up. Then, he had a genius idea. He called Spock…but not Spock. The other Spock. "Selek, I thought Vulcans were vegetarians!"

He heard the quiet amused sigh. "It is not a species encompassing term, Jim. It is simply that many people take 'most' as being synonymous with the term 'all.' This is not true. Only that 'most' Vulcans are fully and strictly practicing Vegetarians. There are those of the race that at times indulge in the dish that I have suggested to you."

Jim was growing aggravated. "That's nice and everything, but I saw him get sick on something that tasted like chicken for almost a whole day once, Selek! If I make this, he better be used to eating it! Do you even know if he _likes_ it?"

There was a soft chuckle. "I do not know for certain. I only know that _I_ rarely indulged in the meal, but did find the taste pleasing. I can only…guess that Spock would also enjoy it."

Jim's lips tightened into a thin line. "That's not very helpful."

Selek paused. "You are nervous."

That stopped him in his tracks. "I—"

"Is there more to your friendship than that to which you have alluded previously?"

"What? No! I just don't want to mess this up, because if he can't eat it, he'll probably lecture me on how someone who didn't know what he was doing cooking a Vulcan meal wasted the ingredients, that's all!" The idea shocked Jim. "Why would you even ask that?"

Selek was now laughing a little more heartily than a chuckle. "Forgive me, James, I am somewhat less cautious with my speech in my aging years."

Jim smiled, knowing a dodge when he heard it. It was probably fine, since he was nearing his apartment door. "Fine, but just this time, and only if you give me the ultimate step-by-step instructions on this meal, alright?"

"It will be waiting."

"Well, I'm at my door now, so you have about three minutes to get it ready and send it." He punched in the access code.

"I will have it to you in two point five minutes. I have been preparing it since you mentioned your need for it."

Jim smiled. This older, alternate dimensional Spock was so much like his Spock it was uncanny at times. Whenever he would mention a need for something technical on the ship, Spock would have it almost in his hands before he'd move on to the next topic of discussion. It was impressive and endearing in a way – like a child eager to please. "I figure you did."

His door slid aside to allow him entrance, only to have his ears bombarded with the sounds of a half-argument. He recognized the situation immediately. So, apparently, did the elderly Vulcan. "Is that Doctor McCoy and Sp—"

"Sorry, Selek, I gotta go now before they kill each other." He disconnected with Selek and hurried into the apartment, managing to put the food items on the island counter before he headed toward the disturbance. It was when he cleared the doorway that he suddenly remembered that he'd also offered Bones the guest room during shore leave, too.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Bones was tucking his tricorder into his bag as he walked into the guest room of Jim's apartment when the door to the left leading to the bathroom slid open. His nerves already on alert because of the chaos in the kitchen, Bones reacted on instinct, hoping his action would cover up the fact that he'd just released a rather undignified shriek, by throwing his tricorder at the open doorway. He saw that the tricorder was deftly caught by none other than Spock.

"Jesus, Spock! You can't sneak up on someone like that!"

"I was not sneaking, Doctor." Spock hesitantly held out the tricorder to him.

He snatched it back. "It was instinct."

"This must be a human trait."

He glared at the Vulcan. "And what made you come to that conclusion?" He put his bags down on the bed with the opposite of anything remotely approaching gentleness.

Spock thought it was odd that the doctor was putting his luggage on a bed that was not his to use, but he ignored it in order to answer the man's question. "Upon my arrival, the captain stunned me with his phaser."

The doctor snorted. "So, you've been shot at and had something thrown at you." He opened the clothes storage unit and went rigid for a moment before turning his head quickly towards Spock. "How come your clothes are in my closet?"

Spock straightened his posture, as was his habit when preparing to defend himself. "As it is in the home of the captain, that closet does not belong to you."

"Right now it does!"

"And my clothing has been placed there because I am to occupy this room for the duration of shore leave."

McCoy went so rigid that it looked almost as though _he'd _been stunned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. "Are you telling me, Spock, that Jim told you you could stay in here for the rest of shore leave?"

Spock nodded, still having not moved from the open door between the bedroom and the fresher. "I am."

McCoy sputtered. "Well, guess what? He made that offer to me, too, so my clothes should be here."

"I do not believe that it was intended that we share this room."

"I'm definitely not sharing a bed with you, if that's where you were going."

"I would also object to that course of action, with the exception that it became necessary during the events of an away mission."

"That's even pushing it for me."

"Regardless, we both have objections to cohabitation in this room. The other fact is that the captain seems to have erroneously made identical offers of housing to both of us."

"When did he make it to you?"

"His offer?" McCoy's nod was immediate. "This afternoon."

McCoy smiled victoriously. "He told me I could stay here after we got our orders to come back here to return the Admiral's dog! Ha! I was asked first."

"That does not solve the problem."

"Yeah, it does. I was asked first, therefore I have the right to the room. So get your stuff out, Spock."

"I will do no such thing until the captain rescinds his offer to me." He saw McCoy's expression change. "Which you and I both know he will not do."

"I bet I can convince him," the doctor growled.

"But for the time being, it seems we are at an impasse which can only be solved by the captain, as he made the same offer to both of us."

McCoy glared at Spock. "I'm not sleeping on the couch! I refuse!"

"It may come to that, Doctor."

McCoy stormed over to Spock, not even thinking that the Vulcan could do what he once did to Jim – strangle him nearly to death. "Is that a threat, you hobgob—"

"Bones!" came the authoritative shout of one James T. Kirk, causing the attention of both guests to focus on him rather than near annihilation of each other. At Jim's feet was Planchet, snarling and growling at the two in the guest room. "What is the problem?"

"Captain, the doctor thinks that he has the prior claim to inhabiting this—"

"Shut up, Spock!" Then, McCoy marched up to Jim. "You can't be serious that you want Spock to stay with you—" He lowered his voice to finish. "—and in my room, Jim."

Jim noticed that Spock stiffened and straightened his already rigid posture behind McCoy. He sighed through his nose. "Bones, how about you sleep in—"

"Not the couch. I will not do the couch!"

Jim glared at his friend. "I was going to say in my room, and I'll take the couch." McCoy made a face. "I mean, it doesn't really make much sense to have Spock move all of his things out, does it?" McCoy was glaring at him now.

Spock cleared his throat behind them, having noticed the tension between the two. "Captain, since you had offered this room to the doctor first, I will cede to his claim on this space and vacate immediately. However, I have no desire to evict you from your own quarters. Therefore, I will take the sofa." With that, Spock went to the clothing storage unit, opened it, and removed the small amount of clothing he brought with him, carrying it all in one trip. The moment the Vulcan's clothing was removed, McCoy hurriedly began to settle in, looking like a child who was pleased he'd gotten his way.

As Spock was about to make his way past Jim, he was stopped. "Spock," Jim said quietly. He waited until the Vulcan was looking at him. "I know you need your privacy, and…honestly you won't get it sleeping in my living room." Without thinking, he put his hand on Spock's back and directed him toward his own room. "But you will in my room. So, my room is yours for the rest of leave." The change was small, but Spock's expression changed to something like shock. Jim hurried to cover any protestation he was likely about to make. "You can meditate or whatever in there, sleep as long as you like, and not have to deal with Bones making a huge racket in the kitchen. That's logical, right?"

Spock could not disagree with that. Without a word, he went into Jim's bedroom. As the door slid behind him, Jim fleetingly wondered how Spock knew which door led to his room. Odd.

But he couldn't dwell on that now. He had dinner to make and his terminal to check for the recipe. It was far longer than the two point five minutes Selek had promised it would take, so the older Vulcan had no excuse if it wasn't waiting for him. He couldn't help the grin when it was waiting just as he'd been promised. Planchet yipped at his feet. "What do you say?" He scratched the dog's ears. "Want to help me make some Vulcan dinner?" Planchet yipped.

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was the scent coming from the kitchen more than Doctor McCoy's irritated shouting that drew Spock's attention from his place in Jim's bedroom. He knew that scent. It wasn't common, but he did know it.

"What _is_ that!"

"It's some kind of seafood or something. I don't know. Heard it was good, so I thought I'd try it." Jim didn't sound defensive like Spock thought he would have. Instead, he sounded almost as though he'd been insulted. His answer was nowhere near the volume of the doctor's. It was rather quiet and subdued.

"I'm not eating that!"

Now, Jim's voice raised. "You don't have to, Bones!"

"I'm surprised you even managed to cook something in this kitchen. Remember when I told you space was disease and danger? I think your kitchen has space beat."

The doctor and the captain certainly had a dysfunctional relationship. Sometimes they behaved as though they were very close friends, but other times the doctor would take a fatherly role to Jim. But it seemed that today the younger human was not in any sort of mood to handle it.

"Will you just…leave it alone, Bones? Yeah, I might not be the clean freak you are! But just…I wanted to see if I could cook something that required a bit more concentration than what I normally make. And I don't think Spock would eat anything I usually cook, so I thought I'd just—"

"Impress him? You cooked this for him, didn't you?"

Spock had by now gotten to the doorway, and was looking straight into the kitchen, watching the interaction. "He doesn't really have anyone right now. I just…want him to feel welcome."

"Kid, we've been in space for the last few months with him. If he's not comfortable by now—"

"How many times have you seen him in the rec room? Or with anyone else when he's not on duty? Even on diplomatic missions, he's always alone. Everyone else has their little posse, but not Spock."

McCoy shifted. "Maybe they don't need posses."

"But everyone needs _someone_. No one should be alone like that."

"He's got Uhura, though. She's someone."

Spock was thankful their backs were to him and they did not know he was observing this discussion.

Jim was quiet for a long moment. From his movements he was putting the finishing touches on the delicious-smelling food in front of him. Spock was immediately interested. He was even more certain as to what Jim had prepared. "Listen, are you going to eat any of this?"

McCoy leaned over it and sniffed. Then he half-gagged. "I just don't think I can, Jim. Scotty's haggus that one time was bad enough."

Jim's body twitched as he quietly snorted. "You ordering in, then?"

McCoy took out his communicator. "Actually, I happen to know that one of my nurses is probably eating out and can probably make a stop here to drop something off."

"You're ridiculous."

"No, I just like taking presented opportunities."

"Not always a good thing, Bones."

McCoy's hail was answered by Christine Chapel. "Hey, Chrissy. Can you do me a favor?"

There was a sigh from the nurse. "Food or drink?"

"Aww, you know me well."

"That's because I work with you in close quarters for more time than anyone should." Jim actually laughed at that moment. "What do you need, Doctor?"

McCoy put on his most charming voice. "If you could do me a favor of bringing me something – anything of the human variety – to Jim's apartment so that I don't have to worry about being poisoned by the little creep, I will pay for not only the meal, but also give up one of my next shore leave rotations to you."

It was quiet on the other end of the communicator for a moment. Whispering was going on, though. As each second passed, McCoy looked less and less certain his proposal would be accepted. Then, there was an answer. "Okay, I'll order you something. Your food should be there in about twenty to thirty minutes. Is that alright?"

McCoy smiled, even though Christine couldn't see it. "Perfect!" He disconnected. "See? I can persuade my staff of anything."

"Sure you can, Bones."

McCoy leaned closer to the food Kirk had made. "You sure he's gonna eat that, Jim?"

There was a sigh from the captain. "I hope so. I hope I didn't screw it up."

McCoy clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Even though I think it smells disgusting, it smells fine."

"That makes no sense."

"Am I getting the hobgoblin for dinner or—"

Jim wiggled out of his friend's grasp. "No, I'll go get him." Spock hurriedly reentered the bedroom, letting the door silently shut. He heard Jim say as he neared the door. "After the scene you two had, I think anything is better from me right now." Spock looked around for anything to occupy his time to make it seem as though he'd been busy with something in the room. The only thing he could come up with was smoothing the coverings of the bed. The door slid aside just as he began to half-pretend to tuck the corner of the coverlet in. "Spock, I—uh—made some dinner."

"I have detected its scent for the last four point six minutes."

"Oh."

"You have made a Vulcan dish."

Jim shifted his weight in a gesture Spock recognized as uncertainty. "Yeah."

Spock tried to sound reassuring. "By its scent I am certain it will be satisfactory. I have not sampled it for many years."

Jim started to relax. "So you know what it is?"

Spock lifted one corner of his mouth by just a fraction. "Indeed. You have prepared Jumbo Vulcan mollusks sautéed in Rhombolian butter."

Jim smiled side. "Yeah." Then, his smile died. "But they aren't the jumbo kind. I could only find the smaller ones."

"I am certain they will do. Your effort is appreciated. Thank you, Jim." The human's smile grew again, and Spock knew it was the correct response.

_**~X~X~X~X~X~**_

After more than twenty minutes of watching Spock teach Jim how to eat the food that Jim had made, McCoy was about to lose it. And even though he did not want to eat those things, he was getting hungrier by the second. Finally, the chime sounded. He practically jumped up from his chair and sprinted to the door. When he opened it, he started talking before really seeing what was on the other side of the door.

"Thanks, Chrissy. You have no idea how—"

Then, he saw.

Standing outside the door was certainly not Christine Chapel. "Uh—Tonia?" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeoman Barrows," he tried again, opting for polite professionalism as much as could be salvaged.

"I managed to get dinner arranged for you."

He thought she was being as elusive and tricky as a certain half-Vulcan sitting in the room behind him. "But?"

She straightened as though mustering her courage. "But you can only have it on one condition."

McCoy growled as he leaned on the doorjamb, "And that is?" He was not exactly pleased about bargaining for his dinner. Kegan had done similar things when she wanted to get her way, and none of her proposed conditions usually were for his benefit, or even for mutual benefit. It was for hers, always hers.

"I have to accompany you to dinner, but…" She hesitated, took a breath and continued. "But not as a colleague. As a date."

McCoy stared at Tonia for a long moment, his mouth working like a fish out of water. "Now?"

Tonia tried to look harmless. She smiled brightly and hopefully. "Yes."

McCoy stared at Tonia, frantically trying to remember if agreeing to this would be against regulations. There were no regulations against their dating, according to the little chat he'd had in the middle of the bridge with Jim and Spock. Everything was fine with it. Right? He liked her – or was at least attracted to her. And apparently she reciprocated.

She reciprocated.

McCoy smiled a wide smile he hadn't worn in what seemed like years. Then, with a nod to himself, and a little dash of his southern charm, he offered his arm to the redhead. "Where to, Miss Barrows?" he practically purred.

With an unrestrained laugh, Tonia led him away from the door.

Jim watched it close after his best friend's departure with a small smile. This would be good for Bones. He made a mental note to give Christine Chapel an extra shore leave rotation. "So, Spock, do these meet your approval then?"

"If I were not Vulcan," Spock replied, quickly, "I would not say that you have prepared them correctly, and with accuracy, but instead I would say that I find them delicious." Spock glanced at Jim and could not determine the reason for the sensation he was experiencing at the sight of the human's delighted smile as he ate another mollusk.

But he once had heard his mother refer to the sensation as butterflies.

**End Notes:** _I could not find the canon name of Bones's wife – even though the popular name seems to be Jocelyn. I just don't like the name. So I went with Kegan (which means 'descendant of the fiery one' – which I thought was fitting for someone like his ex-wife, who takes everything from him in their divorce). _

_I have also adjusted Johanna's age in this universe. I stumbled across something that indicated that she was the original idea for the "romantic interest" in that hippie episode of TOS: The Way to Eden (which later ended up being Chekov's girl, Irina Galliulin). That character was originally intended to be McCoy's daughter, Johanna, who would have ended up in some romantic thing with Kirk, only for the purpose of adding a new dynamic to the relationship and friendship of Bones and Kirk. To me that was not going to work…so in this universe – yay alternate realities! – she is as follows: 2250 – Johanna is born; 2255 - Leonard & Kegan divorce, Johanna is 5, Bones meets Jim in the shuttle; 2258 – Narada Incident, Johanna is 8; 2259 – This story's timeframe, Johanna is 9. _

_I did not intend for Selek to be in this series, but he cleverly snuck in here. Clever Vulcan. _

_I hope everyone enjoyed this installment. Please review and let me know what you think. However, please keep your flames to yourself as leaving them in a review is not the place for it. If you have something constructive to say, I welcome it, particularly in a PM. But, please, do not condescend to me. There is no call for it. Thank you!_

_**Be Advsied:**____Before anyone feels the need to educate me on vegetarianism and Vulcan culture because of the food choice written above that Jim makes for Spock, please note: I get the majority of my information regarding Vulcan Culture and Societal practices from Memory-Alpha, which states the following: "__Although it has not always been so, __most__ Vulcans are vegetarians." Note the key word _most._ Also considering we are in an alternate universe, thanks to the Abrams!Universe, it is very possible that Spock _could _indeed indulge in some seafood eating. And in the case of this story, he does. If you don't like it – tough! I wanted something other than plomeek soup for Jim to cook Spock, which requires a little more of a challenge – so mollusks it is. __ If people can repeatedly accept the premise that Vulcans have a higher body temperature than Humans – which they do not, as the average Vulcan body temperature is 91 degrees – then there should not be an issue with Spock choosing to eat – and enjoy – a Jumbo Mollosk. Thank you! ~ RK _


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